Veiled Women. Marmaduke William Pickthall
here is whiter and more appetizing.”
“Well, God alone knows what she is or is not. This is sure: I have no itching to go down into the house while Fitnah Khânum rages.”
“Nor I!” “Nor I!” exclaimed the rest with feeling.
The morning clamour of the city came up to them as a soothing murmur. Minarets dreamed round them in the sun-haze which was rosy at its heart but in the distance pearly with a tinge of brown. On one hand open country might be seen, green fields and palm trees crowding to the desert wave on which three pyramids stood out, minute as ciphers; on the other, ending the long ridge of the Mucattam Hill, arose the Citadel in smoky shadow, its Turkish dome and minarets, its towers and ramparts, appearing like a city of the sky. Here and there among the housetops a small cloud of doves went up, fluttered a moment and subsided peacefully. Kites hovered, crows were circling, in the upper air. Gulbeyzah watched their evolutions dreamily.
“Allah defend us from the liberty of Frankish women!” she remarked at length. “I could not bear it. To meet the stare of all men were too dreadful. My maidenhood would flush my brain and kill me. O pure shame! And yet they choose what men they like, the fact is known. In sh´Allah, the great favour, when the crow does bring it, will not destroy our blessed privacy.”
“In sh´Allah, truly!” answered Hind, with vehemence. “Fear nothing, O beloved; God is greatest! Their freedom is from Satan, their liege lord—the curse of Allah on him! It is a travesty of God’s work, like all he does. Is it not known when Allah made the cow, he tried his best to do the same, but got no farther than the water-buffalo? All Heaven mocked him. Our charter, when it comes, will be perfection.”
“Talking of foreign women makes me curious to know how things are going, down below. Has the governess consented to give life to Yûsuf? Has the Pasha quieted the lady Fitnah?”
“Nothing could quiet her, unless it were the quick expulsion of the Englishwoman. Why did she ever have her children taught the lore of infidels? The fault is hers! She hoped to keep the Bey from honourable marriage, chaining his fancy with some slave-girl, her own creature.”
“With me, say plainly!” laughed Gulbeyzah, with a yawn. “I was brought into the house with that intention. Yet not her creature, for Murjânah Khânum is my mistress, and she would have seen to it that I was well respected. If the governess has pity on him—which I think not likely—as soon would the wild serpent wed the dove—my lady must provide me with a proper husband. I have no mind to wither as a fruit untasted.” She yawned again. “Will no one go into the house and bring me news?”
Up leapt a little Galla girl, a child as yet unveiled, all eyes and teeth with glee in the adventure.
“I go, O lady! I am not afraid. I will even enter the selamlik. I will find out everything.”
“Be very careful, O Fatûmah, lest old Fitnah seize thee. She would rip up thy belly and pluck out thy entrails did she catch thee spying!”
The little black girl laughed and made an impudent grimace.
“And then the eunuchs! They will surely beat thee.”
“By Allah, they must catch me first. Sawwâb adores me, and the others are too slow.”
“Good. Run, ere curiosity consume me!”
The little negress shot off like an arrow. Down dark, malodorous stairs, through empty corridors, she glanced, incarnate mischief. In a pleasure court of the harîm, where orange trees in tubs grew round a pool, she stopped to listen for the voice of Fitnah. It came from an apartment on her right. Straight forward, where she wished to go, the coast seemed clear. Springing on tiptoe, she plucked a spray of blossom from the nearest tree; then ran on down a passage through the ornate screen, the boundary of the women’s quarters, where a eunuch tried in fun to stop her; and in sight of a great hall where men were lounging, knocked at a door.
The word had scarce been given ere she glided in and held out the sprig of orange-blossom to the English governess, with every muscle of her body fawning, smiling. Without a look, she read the stranger’s face, perceived she had been crying lately but now looked exultant, observed the order of the room, the foreign furniture; and then, before the Englishwoman could find words to thank her for the pretty offering, kissed a white hand which proved as hot as fire, and darted out as noiselessly as she had entered.
As she was flitting back across the garden-court, she heard a male voice cry:
“Be silent, woman; or, by the Prophet, I shall have to beat thee!”
Crouching behind a tub, she listened eagerly. But though a wrangle was in progress not far off between the Pasha and his wife, the lady Fitnah, she could glean no more than the main tenor of it from the voices, of which the man’s was irritated and the woman’s mad.
At last the Pasha shouted:
“It is finished. No word more. I go straight to the Consul. Appeal to the Câdi, I beseech thee; of thy kindness, do so! He will tell thee, just as I do, that thou art demented.”
Another minute and he crossed the court, wearing his best tarbûsh and his official garb of black frock-coat and narrow trousers—a thing unheard of at that early hour.
Having seen him pass to the selamlik, Fatûmah ran like lightning through the dim old house, till, breathless, she emerged in dazzling sunlight and flopped down on the roof again beside the others.
“Well, what news?” they clamoured.
“Great news!” Fatûmah panted. “Only listen! The English governess is going to marry Yûsuf Bey, and she has islamed!”
“Praise to Allah!” cried the others in amazement. “A Frankish woman convert! A great miracle!”
“The Pasha goes this minute to the English Consul, to confer with him and make arrangements for the ceremony.”
“Allahu akbar! Is it possible? But what says Fitnah?”
“What can she say, the poor one? The command is on her.”
“But, for the love of Allah, say, how didst thou learn all this?”
Fatûmah shut her lips tight, looking preternaturally cunning.
“Ha, ha!” was all she answered.
“Her tale is nonsense! She is making game of us,” exclaimed Gulbeyzah, breaking out in laughter. “She was not gone five minutes, that is known. Thou shalt be paid full measure, little poison-flower! Confess now that thy story is all lies!”
The marvel was that every word proved true.
CHAPTER II
Muhammad Pasha Sâlih was intensely worried. As he drove toward the English Consul’s office, he let deep furrows ravage his benignant brow, and combed his long grey beard with nervous fingers. The ever-shifting crowds, the eager faces, the laden camels rolling on like ships upon the sea of heads; the water-sellers clinking their brass cups, the cries of salesmen and the floating odours—all the pageant of the streets and all their rumour, which filled the sunlight and seemed one with it, went by unnoticed.
In youth he had been wedded to a noble Turkish lady, the sweetest and most gentle of companions. Never an angry word had passed between them. But, alas! when all her children died soon after birth, Murjânah Khânum had grown melancholy and retired from life. She still dwelt in his house, was still the nominal head of his harîm; but for more than twenty years she had been dead to pleasure. At first he had amused himself with pretty slaves, being reluctant to infringe her dignity of only wife. Then, at her instance, for she feared debauch for him, he had espoused the daughter of a wealthy native, whom the caprice of a former ruler had exalted. The marriage, besides